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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430363">mortal; beloved</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/caniculeo/pseuds/caniculeo'>caniculeo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Childhood Friends, Inspired by The Song of Achilles, M/M, Rating May Change, References to Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore, Royalty, The Iliad References, achilles!atsumu, patroclus!hinata</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:47:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/caniculeo/pseuds/caniculeo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Atsumu sets aside the sea-glass knife and reaches out to take Hinata’s hand instead. Unlike Atsumu’s mother, Hinata is warm to the touch; his blood runs hot. He curls his fingers around Atsumu’s hand with the gentlest pressure. <br/>A hold on the hand. A hold on the heart. What is the difference, really?</p>
</blockquote>a patrochilles au.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>mortal; beloved</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>idea from <a href="https://twitter.com/inawizawki/status/1275993107163607040?s=20">this tweet</a>.</p><p>jsyk, this fic draws from both the song of achilles and the o.g. iliad, but does not adhere strictly to either! if you are familiar with the material, then you know already: rating and warnings will change with future chapters!</p><p>optional, recommended listening <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1TmCMHp5dz55dcoZnfuctO?si=bTGkroNkRHOh9bfyHaajHA">here</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu and Osamu always meet their mother at the edge of the sea. </p><p>Sometimes, she walks the earth as a woman. Other times, she is a fox with a soft grey pelt that is cool to the touch. Even on land, there is something of the deep sea about her. A detached coldness that comes across in the way she speaks, even to her own sons. </p><p>When she visits, she asks them about their lives. About everything except their father, the king, whom she despises openly. And then, almost every time: <em> Show me what you can do today. </em>A request. A command, really. Atsumu is always eager to show off, to grab a weapon and do his all to impress her. Osamu is considerably less so, especially as time goes on. </p><p><em> You will be the greatest warriors who ever lived</em>, she says afterwards, holding them close. Her precious, divine blood. Diluted and chained to the mortal earth. <em> My sons. One day, you will walk among the gods as their equals. </em></p><p>She speaks half a prophecy and half a wish. Atsumu is young and does not know better. He listens, starry-eyed and eager to believe, and he hears nothing but the truth. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps because of this, Atsumu grows up a prideful brat of a prince, despised almost as much as he is revered. Things like formalities, politeness, manners—they all seem so small to him, so inconsequential in the face of future godhead. He speaks the truth as he sees it, his tongue as sharp as a blade and just as cutting. People hate him for it. Atsumu does not care.</p><p>But Osamu seems to have different ideas, as he always does these days. He is warm and approachable, as if to compensate for Atsumu’s glaring lack of civility. He befriends the boys in their palace, the runaways and strays and exiles that their father takes in. Lately, he even cuts short their private training to drag Atsumu to a meal or a game with his little entourage of playmates. It never goes well. </p><p>Osamu tells him outright: <em> Tsumu, I don’t want to be like you. </em>Friendless, alone, and indifferent to his solitude. Atsumu shrugs, half his mind somewhere else. But a part of him is a little hurt: after all, they’d come into this world together. He’d always thought they’d be enough for each other, and yet.</p><p>Atsumu wonders, as he sometimes does, how they’d ended up so different.</p><p> </p><p>“Someone new is arriving today,” Osamu tells him one afternoon. </p><p>This is not a rare occurrence. The palace welcomes new boys almost every fortnight—there is no shortage of children with nowhere else to go. But this time, their father is away, which means one of them has to receive the newcomer. </p><p>“You take care of it,” Atsumu retorts, taking a bite of his half-eaten peach. </p><p>“<em>I’m </em> not the crown prince,” Osamu proclaims. Only he would say that with something like pride. And then he adds, “It isn’t as if you have anything else to do.”</p><p>Ah, yes. Because Osamu <em> always </em>has other things to do, with his hordes of friends and worshippers. Atsumu glares at him, and does not give. He finishes the peach, holding the sticky pit gingerly in his hand.  </p><p>Osamu tries another tactic. “This new boy,” he says. “He’s an exiled prince. And—” A pause. </p><p>“And?” Atsumu says, bored. Exiled princes are as common as sparrows where they are. </p><p>“He’s a murderer, apparently,” Osamu says.</p><p>Atsumu looks up. He has never met a murderer before. “Our age?” he asks, after a pause. </p><p>“A year younger,” Osamu says. “So—will you see him?”</p><p>A moment of deliberation. “Fine,” Atsumu says, a little miffed at giving in. But his curiosity has the best of him. “I’ll see him.”</p><p>“Good,” says Osamu, and turns to leave. But then he adds, “You know, you might even like him. Make a friend for a change.”</p><p>In a moment of childish irritation, Atsumu flings the peach pit at Osamu’s head. Osamu’s hand darts out to catch it, impossibly fast. He doesn’t even blink before throwing it back, and Atsumu ducks it easily.</p><p>“Ugh,” Osamu says, looking down at his palm. “Sticky.” </p><p>Atsumu laughs. </p><p> </p><p>The murderer is nothing special to look at, as boys go. </p><p>Scrawny. Small for his thirteen years. Almost birdlike. He has a habit of standing slightly on his toes, with his arms extending just a little behind him. Perhaps the most notable thing about him is his hair, flame-coloured and wild. Or perhaps it is his eyes: dark and bold, nearly insolent. </p><p>Atsumu is almost interested. Almost. </p><p>“Your name?” he asks, feigning nonchalance.</p><p>“Hinata,” the boy answers. “Hinata Shouyou.” His voice is still high with youth, and there is an edge of foreignness to his speech. After a moment, he lowers his gaze to the ground, reluctantly polite.</p><p>“Shouyou,” Atsumu says, tasting the name. And then it slips out. “The murderer.”</p><p>Hinata’s head jerks up. His glare is dark and full of pain and fury, enough to make Atsumu blink in surprise. As quick as a heartbeat, Hinata’s gaze flicks back to the ground, and Atsumu is left almost wondering whether he’d imagined it all.</p><p>“Just Shouyou is enough,” Hinata says. His voice is icy. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Ah,” Atsumu says. It takes him a moment to realize his own embarrassment. He tries to sound princely. “Yes. Welcome. I hope you will be happy here.”</p><p>Hinata nods, silent.</p><p>“My name is Atsumu,” Atsumu adds, almost tripping over his words. There is something about this boy that unsettles him, makes him feel like their roles are reversed. </p><p>“Yes,” Hinata says. His gaze remains fixed on the floor. “I know.”</p><p>There is not much to be said after that. When Hinata leaves the room, he does not look back. Perhaps this is the last time they will ever speak to each other. It stings a little: Atsumu realizes he’d been expecting something, anything.</p><p><em> Make a friend for a change</em>. Atsumu scoffs inwardly, and does his best to cast Hinata Shouyou out of his mind. </p><p> </p><p>Try as he might, Atsumu can never quite ignore Hinata’s presence. </p><p>It’s the hair, he tells himself, and nothing else: fiery, eye-catching, always flickering at the corner of his vision. Eventually, Atsumu gives in to himself, and just looks. Watches. </p><p>Hinata prefers his own company. He is polite in the face of Osamu’s warmth, but even then, he remains distant. When it is clear that he has become a loner, some of the more rowdy boys tease him, almost cruelly, about his red hair. But even then, he remains aloof and quiet, simply retreating. Turning away.</p><p>Perhaps because of this, Atsumu begins to see Hinata less and less. Sometimes, Hinata features in the careless conversation of other boys, who make fun of the unusual hue of his hair, his self-imposed isolation. Apparently, he neither attends training nor lessons—the masters are to beat him for truancy should they ever catch him. </p><p>So where, then, does he go? As noticeable as Hinata is, nobody seems to know or care. From where he sits next to Osamu in the dining hall, Atsumu watches Hinata slip away after every meal like a shadow, and he wonders. But Atsumu has never been satisfied with merely wondering, so one day at the end of breakfast, his gaze lands on Hinata again, and it does not leave. </p><p>“We’re going to swim in the river before they train,” Osamu is telling him. “Do you want—”</p><p>Atsumu is already shaking his head, moving away. “Another time,” he calls over his shoulder, and begins his pursuit. </p><p>He tracks Hinata out of the palace, past the training grounds, through the orchard. Hinata walks his meandering path with surety, leaping nimbly over fences as if he has been walking it forever. The place he leads Atsumu to is a familiar one: a rich green pasture, far from the palace. When they were younger, Atsumu and Osamu would come here often to play, to ride their father’s horses—the same horses that nicker now at the sight of Hinata approaching. They are divine beasts, a wedding gift from the gods. One for Atsumu to ride, and one for Osamu. Both for the war chariot they will drive one day.</p><p>The two immortal stallions—one dappled gold, one bay roan—are kept alone because they are immense and fierce and wild, supposedly subservient to none other but Atsumu and Osamu. And yet here they are, nickering softly and milling about a scrawny mortal boy who doesn’t even come up to their withers. They frolic like foals, hand-reared and sweet-tempered. And Hinata is smiling as the horses nuzzle at his hands, laughing, bright like the morning sun. </p><p>Atsumu has never seen anything like it. The scene before him. Hinata’s joy. He emerges from his hiding spot, approaches. </p><p>“So this is where you’ve been,” he says. </p><p>Hinata whips around, his eyes widening with shock when he recognizes Atsumu. “Oh,” he says, looking panicked, “I—”</p><p>“These are my father’s horses,” Atsumu says. He does not mean to sound accusing, but Hinata flinches anyways. He glances left and right, lifts up on his toes as if preparing to run, to fly. </p><p>“No—don’t be afraid,” Atsumu says quickly. “I’m not angry. I won’t tell.”</p><p>Hinata looks at him, hard. “You won’t?”</p><p>Atsumu shakes his head. </p><p>At this, Hinata seems to relax, though he still looks wary. He settles back down onto his heels. A moment of silence passes between the two of them, with neither knowing what to say. </p><p>“Do you ride?” Atsumu asks, breaking the silence.</p><p>“Yes,” Hinata says. Of course. He was a prince too, once. </p><p>“Come, then,” Atsumu says. He pats Osamu’s horse, the roan stallion. “We can ride together.”</p><p> </p><p>They ride bareback along the coast. Hinata looks even smaller like this, dwarfed by the sheer size of his mount. He’d had to use a running start to scramble onto the horse’s back. </p><p>“You don’t train with the others,” Atsumu says, by way of beginning the conversation.</p><p>“Neither do you,” Hinata retorts.</p><p>“I am a prince,” Atsumu says. “But you—you’ll be punished.”</p><p>Hinata slumps, half-lying on the roan stallion’s neck. “They can’t catch me,” he mumbles. </p><p>“They will eventually,” Atsumu says. He doesn’t know why he cares so much. “And—”</p><p>“Help me, then,” Hinata says. </p><p>Atsumu blinks. “What?”</p><p>Hinata straightens up, looks Atsumu in the eye. “Like you said, you are a prince. Tell the masters I’ve been away because of you, and they will not whip me.”</p><p>There is a dare in his voice. Almost a command. Atsumu is too impressed to be offended. </p><p>“You want me to lie for you,” he says, after a pause. </p><p>“Won’t you?” Hinata asks. He tilts his head. </p><p>Atsumu is intrigued. Where is the meek little thing from minutes ago, ready to flee at a moment’s notice? Here is a boy who fears nothing. A boy with a gaze as strong and steady as the summer sun. </p><p>No, Atsumu will not see him beaten. “I will speak to my father,” he says, after a pause.</p><p>Hinata does not thank Atsumu, but he nods. For a few moments, they do not speak: the only sounds Atsumu hears are the ocean breeze and the plodding of hooves on the ground. Atsumu is accustomed to silence, to being on his own. But now, he strangely finds that he hungers for the sound of another’s voice.</p><p>“You were brave,” Atsumu says.</p><p>Hinata looks up. “Brave?”</p><p>Atsumu gestures to the horses. “You were playing with immortals,” he says. </p><p>A pause. “Oh,” Hinata says. He runs a hand through the stallion’s dark mane, as smooth as silk. “I didn’t know. I thought they were just ordinary horses.”</p><p> </p><p>There is only one way to spare Hinata from punishment and to exempt him from any training in the future. In the evening, Atsumu requests an audience with his father, and brings Hinata to the throne room. His father is taken aback—perhaps rightfully so—when Atsumu apologizes for his hand in Hinata’s absences, and announces his intention to have Hinata as his companion. </p><p>“There are boys of higher birth,” Atsumu’s father says, glancing at Hinata, who stands at Atsumu’s side. <em> Boys who are not murderers</em>. “There are—”</p><p>“I want him,” Atsumu says, “and no one else.” He pretends he does not see the way Hinata glances at him, with something like gratefulness. </p><p>A pause. “Very well,” his father says, resigned. He has always been a reasonable man, and soft on his sons. “At the very least, it is good that you have a companion.” No doubt he has heard of Atsumu’s friendless state, perhaps from Osamu. </p><p>“Thank you, Father,” Atsumu says.</p><p>His father nods, turning towards Hinata. “Shouyou, was it?” he asks. “Come, let me see you.” </p><p>Hinata steps forward, obedient. </p><p>“Do you understand what this position requires of you?” Atsumu’s father asks, because with this, Hinata will be more than a playmate—he will be a lifelong partner, bound to Atsumu for as long as they walk the earth. </p><p>“Yes,” Hinata says, lifting his chin. His tone is respectful, but his gaze is direct. “I do.”</p><p>“Good, good,” Atsumu’s father says. He looks impressed, perhaps even pleased. “I must tell you though, it may be difficult. After all—” And here, he smiles. “You will be sharing a room with our princes.”</p><p>A hint of a smile appears on Hinata’s face in response. “That does not sound so bad,” he says. “So long as they do not snore.”</p><p>Atsumu’s father laughs. “I cannot promise you that,” he says. Atsumu opens his mouth to protest, but his father continues. “Go on, the both of you,” he says. “It is nearly time for your dinner.”</p><p>Recognizing the dismissal, the two of them bow in tandem and retreat into the hall. </p><p><em> Companion</em>, Atsumu thinks, looking at Hinata. Their eyes meet. He has never thought much of the word before now. <em> Companion</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Despite all this talk of companionship, despite an entire day together, Hinata still retreats to his corner table in the dining hall, slipping away from Atsumu’s side like a ghost. Atsumu swallows his disappointment. He shouldn’t have expected anything—after all, Hinata had merely asked for help. And Atsumu had given it. When he looks up in the middle of his meal, Hinata is gone. No doubt off to his own private haunts. </p><p>The obnoxious laughter of the boys around him, Osamu’s excited chatter—everything is louder than usual, chafing. The food is bland on Atsumu’s tongue. After a short while, he leaves the table without a word. Accustomed to his aloofness, the other boys do not pay him any mind, though Osamu gives him a nod: <em> I’ll see you later. </em></p><p>Atsumu steps out of the hall and almost runs into Hinata, who is standing near the doorway. </p><p>“Oh, are you finished?” Hinata asks, tilting his head.</p><p>Atsumu blinks in surprise. “Yes,” he says. “You waited,” he adds after a moment, “for me?”</p><p>“I’m your companion now,” Hinata points out. “Should I not have?”</p><p>“No,” Atsumu says, flustered. “I mean—yes. Yes.” </p><p>Not for the first time today, Hinata looks almost amused. “I don’t know the way to your room, either.”</p><p>“Oh,” Atsumu says. “Why did you eat without me?”</p><p>Hinata tugs at a lock of his own hair. Embarrassment is strange on him—Atsumu has only ever seen him bold and unapologetic. “I didn’t think your friends would like it if I came,” Hinata says.</p><p>“They aren’t my friends,” Atsumu says. <em> You’re my friend, </em>he almost says, because he’s fairly sure it’s true now. “They’re Samu’s. I don’t care what they like.”</p><p>“Oh,” Hinata says. </p><p>“Next time,” Atsumu says, “come sit with me.” It is more a request than a command. </p><p>Hinata hums, contemplative. “Or you could come sit with me,” he says. “It’s less crowded.”</p><p>“Alright,” Atsumu says. It is a better idea, anyways. “This way,” he says, beginning to lead, and Hinata follows him closely. </p><p>Their shared room is large and spacious, facing the coast. Beside Atsumu’s bed, someone has placed a pallet on the ground for Hinata to sleep on. His few belongings are on the floor next to it. </p><p>Hinata settles down on the pallet, Atsumu on his own bed. It is not yet dark outside. A silence settles over them, and Atsumu wants to say something, but does not know what. The realm of friendship is not one he is familiar with. Nor had it ever been something he’d ever wanted to explore, at least until now. </p><p>“Should we play something?” Hinata asks, finally. </p><p>Atsumu blinks. “Music?”</p><p>A soft laugh. “I was thinking of games. But music, if you like. If you can.”</p><p>So Atsumu retrieves the two lyres from the corner of the room, hands his own to Hinata and keeps Osamu’s for himself. Hinata holds the instrument gingerly, as if it is something alive and breathing. Hesitantly, he plucks a string. The note rings out into the evening like a bird across the sky. </p><p>“Do you know how to play?” Atsumu asks. </p><p>Hinata shakes his head. “Teach me,” he says. </p><p><em> Teach me. Help me</em>. For an exile, Hinata’s language is rife with orders, perhaps a remnant of the prince he used to be. And yet Atsumu—Atsumu, who has little patience for even the most well-mannered of people—finds that he is not offended. There is no trace of disrespect in the way Hinata treats him. There is nothing but simple honesty. </p><p>“Come,” Atsumu says. “Sit on my bed. It’ll be hard to teach you like this.”</p><p>He feels the bed shift slightly as Hinata settles down beside him, feels the soft warmth emanating from his body. And he begins to teach, playing low to high, high to low. Atsumu counts himself skilled, though he knows he is far from the best—Osamu is leagues better than him, and loves it more too. All the same, Hinata listens and follows along, focused. In the darkening evening, surrounded by the sweet sound of lyres, he seems to soften, the hardness in his eyes melting away. Sometimes, he even laughs at his own clumsiness, and Atsumu will allow himself a smile too. They play until the sun sets, until Osamu returns.</p><p>“Tsumu, I hope you know that you’re offending the muses—”</p><p>Osamu stops in his tracks under the doorway, taking in the two of them, the pallet on the ground. The lyres in their hands. The shock in his face is almost laughable.</p><p>Hinata breaks the silence. “My prince,” he greets Osamu, bowing his head, and Atsumu frowns. Hinata has never called Atsumu anything like that. </p><p>“Shouyou,” Osamu says, brow furrowed in confusion. “What—” </p><p>“He’s my companion,” Atsumu says. </p><p>“Your companion,” Osamu echoes, incredulous. “Is this why you skipped everything today? I couldn’t find you anywhere.” </p><p>Atsumu shrugs. “You hate training, anyways.”</p><p>“Yes, but all the same,” Osamu says, walking over to settle down on his bed, across from them. “Companion,” he says again, still disbelieving. He looks back to Hinata. “Did he force you?” </p><p>Atsumu huffs, annoyed. </p><p>“No,” says Hinata, candid. “I asked for it.”</p><p>Osamu glances at Atsumu, perplexed. It isn’t hard to guess what he’s thinking: <em> how? Why? </em> Atsumu scowls back at him. </p><p>“I see,” Osamu says, after a moment. “Then—Shouyou. None of this <em> my prince </em> nonsense. You know our names; use those.” He frowns, throwing Atsumu a disapproving look. “Did Tsumu make you call him that?”</p><p>“No!” Atsumu says, bristling. “Why would I?”</p><p>“Gods know, you probably enjoy it—”</p><p>“I do <em> not</em>—”</p><p>Hinata laughs. The sound is so startling, so sweet, that they both turn towards him. </p><p>“You’re very alike,” Hinata says, smiling. “It’s hard to tell you apart when you’re together.”</p><p>“Wait,” Atsumu says, suddenly panicked. “Did you know who I was? This morning?”</p><p>“Yes,  I knew,” Hinata says. “Because you stare at me.” Atsumu flushes, feeling his face grow hot. “Osamu doesn’t.”</p><p>“Rude as ever, Tsumu,” Osamu says. </p><p>Atsumu glares at him. And then to Hinata, “Sorry.”</p><p>“I don’t mind,” Hinata says, shrugging. He looks at Osamu. “You play too, don’t you?”</p><p>Osamu laughs. “Of course,” he says. “Give,” he says to Atsumu, and Atsumu passes him his lyre, rolling his eyes. At heart, Osamu is just as fond of showing off as he is. </p><p>So Osamu plays. And they listen. His music is entrancing, nothing like the halting, abrupt notes they’d been sending out into the air. Osamu even smiles while he plucks the strings, contentment softening every feature on his face. Absently, Atsumu wonders if he’s ever worn the same expression when doing anything at all.</p><p>Beside him, Hinata shifts infinitesimally closer. He looks enraptured but also haunted, in the way someone does when they see something beautiful. Perhaps he seeks some kind of reassurance, some kind of comfort in touch. But he never moves any closer, and Atsumu is too afraid to meet him halfway. </p><p>The moon rises, as if lured upwards by the sound of music, and the stars begin to shine. Osamu stops playing when they cannot see his fingers any longer. </p><p>“It’s late,” Osamu says. He sets aside the lyre, gentle. “We should sleep.” </p><p>They settle into their beds, made solemn by the music. The world around them feels impossibly big and quiet. Outside, the sea sings its own song, the give and take of its waters under the moon. </p><p>“Goodnight,” Hinata says, his voice small in the dark. </p><p>“Goodnight,” Atsumu and Osamu echo. </p><p>Atsumu turns onto his side. From where he is, he can glimpse Hinata’s hair, washed silver in the light of the stars. Long ago, a visiting scholar had told Atsumu that stars were orbs of flame, that starlight was nothing more than firelight. He is tempted to believe this, now. </p><p>With a soft exhale, Atsumu closes his eyes. He is still smiling when he falls asleep. </p><p> </p><p>“You can go wherever you like, you know,” Atsumu says to Hinata the next morning, over breakfast. “You don’t have to stay with me all day.” </p><p>“I’d like to be with you,” Hinata says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. </p><p>“Oh,” Atsumu says. He is happy, but tries not to show it so openly. “Alright, then.” And then he remembers. “I have to train with Samu, though.”</p><p>“Privately?” Hinata says.</p><p>“Yes,” Atsumu says, already feeling guilty. “But you should come to our lessons, after. If you like.” He is still clumsy with this, the give and take of asking and politeness. </p><p>“I’ll come,” Hinata says. And then he smiles, as bright and soft as daybreak. “Atsumu, you have milk on your nose.”</p><p> </p><p>In the coming days, they take all their meals together. They go to the horses in the mornings and ride to the sea, through the orchards. Atsumu will leave to train with Osamu until the sun is high and hot in the sky, and afterwards, Hinata joins them in the palace for lessons in music and history and everything in between. Sometimes, they visit the king, who tells them his own stories. But Atsumu loves evenings the most, when he and Hinata are both full and a little drowsy from dinner. </p><p>Alone, they lie in the grass of the pasture while the horses graze, watching the setting sun paint the skies with colours so bright and beautiful they seem impossible. <em> Look</em>, Hinata will say, pointing at a fiery cloud, <em> a bird. </em> Atsumu will follow, pointing at another cloud on the horizon: <em> oh, there’s a shield</em>. And so it goes, with them trying to name every cloud in the sky before the sun dips below the horizon. It is a childish game, Atsumu knows. One his mother would scoff at. But all the same, there is something wonderful—almost sacred—in seeing through each other’s eyes. </p><p>When the skies are cloudless, they simply speak. Conversation comes to them easily under the evening sky. At first, it is light, impersonal: <em> the horses were grumpy. Do you think we will have fish for dinner tomorrow? </em>But soon, they begin to talk about themselves. </p><p>Atsumu speaks to Hinata about his childhood, about holding a spear in his hand for the first time and feeling like he’d truly come to life. About Osamu, who’d decided one day that he wanted to be someone else entirely. About how Atsumu knew this was not a rejection, and how it had felt like one regardless. </p><p>In return, Hinata tells Atsumu about his old life. His sister, young and bright and named after summer. His best friend, sharp-tongued and raven-haired and beloved. What he remembers of his dead mother. His little black mare, nimble like a dancer. Hinata speaks like he has been holding it in forever, like the memories are too heavy for him to bear alone. And Atsumu listens, taking everything that he’s offered. </p><p>“I was lonely here,” Hinata says, finally. “Before you found me that day.” </p><p><em> Lonely</em>. How easily he admits it. Atsumu has never thought of himself as lonely, but knowing what he knows now, he must have been. </p><p>Atsumu stares up at the sky, where the clouds are shifting with the wind. “Me too,” he says. “But not anymore.”</p><p>When he turns back to Hinata, he sees Hinata smiling at him. How strange it is, Atsumu thinks, to find joy in something as small as another’s smile. And yet here he is. Here they both are, lying beside each other under the vast summer sky. Like there is nobody else in the entire world. </p><p> </p><p>“What are you thinking about?”</p><p>Hinata smiles. This, too, is becoming another game of theirs. “Guess.”</p><p>They sit under the shade of a cherry tree. The sun is high in the sky—their lessons will begin soon. But for now, they allow themselves a moment of rest. </p><p>“Dinner,” Atsumu says, and Hinata laughs, but shakes his head. “The horses. Samu. My father.” He goes on, listing everything in their little universe: <em> the cloud we saw the other day. The bird that flew in through the window.  The sky. </em> Hinata keeps shaking his head, amused. </p><p>“Well?” Atsumu finally says, a little frustrated. This had been a lot easier the last few times. “What is it, then?”</p><p>Hinata’s eyes are bright, his smile mischievous. “I was thinking,” he says, “that you have cherry juice on your face.” </p><p>“What?” Atsumu says, blushing. Instinctively, he rubs at his cheek. “Where?”</p><p>Hinata merely grins in response, getting to his feet. </p><p>“Shouyou!” Atsumu exclaims, standing up as well. He makes a grab for Hinata, who dodges and begins to laugh. “Where?” </p><p>Without warning, Hinata runs, his laughter sweet in the summer sky. Atsumu chases after him, exhilarated and laughing despite himself. In moments like these, he feels like he is seeing another boy entirely. But then he realizes: no, this is the true Hinata, as he was before his exile. Bright and open. Loud, sometimes even boisterous. He is brilliant to see and to know.</p><p>Eventually, Atsumu manages to grab a fistful of Hinata’s clothing, and they fall together in a heap, breathless with exertion and laughter. </p><p>“Shouyou,” Atsumu says, breathing hard. “Where is it?” </p><p>Hinata is still laughing. “Let’s go to the river,” he says. “I’ll help you wash.”</p><p> </p><p>Over the coming days, Hinata does not wear his pain so openly anymore. In the face of acceptance, he unfurls like a leaf in the sun, quick to smile and to play. But from time to time, Atsumu hears him cry out in his sleep from terror. The first few times, Atsumu simply wakes Hinata by shaking him gently. </p><p>“Sorry,” Hinata always whispers, for fear of waking Osamu. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t be,” Atsumu says, his heart sore from the sight of Hinata, who is frightened and despairing. “It’s not your fault.”</p><p>The nightmares come to Hinata at least once a week. Atsumu does not know what Hinata dreams about, though he can guess. For all their closeness, all the words they speak to each other, there are things they step around gingerly: Hinata’s reputation of being a murderer, Atsumu’s mother. Perhaps one day, they will tell each other everything. But for now, they do not push, do not pry. For now, Atsumu simply takes Hinata’s hand when he reaches out, shaking from fear, and lies down on the pallet next to him. Holds him close. Whispers: <em> it’s alright. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Unexpectedly, Osamu begins to join them in the pasture from time to time, at first from sheer curiosity and then out of actual enjoyment. He and Hinata get along well. Osamu makes him laugh by teasing Atsumu in the way only brothers are allowed to tease each other. And they ride: Osamu on his own stallion, Hinata and Atsumu on the other. Often, they will race each other up and down the beach, the horses just as competitive as their riders. </p><p>At first, however, Atsumu is wary. Jealous, even. Osamu has so many friends—what does he want with Hinata? </p><p>“Tsumu, I’m not going to steal Shouyou from you,” Osamu tells him eventually, blunt as ever. </p><p>Atsumu bristles. It sounds so stupid when Osamu says it like that. “I know that,” he lies, humiliated at being seen through so easily. But that, at least, is the end of the jealousy, and the beginning of something new and pleasant.</p><p>In the midst of it all, Atsumu remembers why he and Osamu had been friends—true friends, not just brothers bound by blood—in their childhood. Osamu is quick-witted, competitive, and they bring out both the best and the worst in each other. Together, they are a recipe for chaos. Far from being a good influence, Hinata ends up exacerbating things more often than not—<em>but what if we did </em> this<em>, too?</em>—much to the chagrin of their instructors. </p><p>“I missed you, you know,” Osamu tells Atsumu, when they are alone before training. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“I missed you.”</p><p>Atsumu feels his ears warm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. </p><p>“I’m just saying,” Osamu says, “that we haven’t been friends for a long time. And now we are.” </p><p>Atsumu huffs, trying to hide his embarrassment. “What,” he says, “a couple of horse races, and now we’re friends?”</p><p>“You don’t think so?” Osamu asks, tilting his head and smiling. He’s teasing—he knows Atsumu feels the same. “Well,” he adds, “at any rate, I’m grateful for Shouyou. He’s made you so much more bearable. It’s amazing, really—” </p><p>“Shut up,” Atsumu says, but there is no heat in his voice. He knows now that Osamu hadn’t joined them just to befriend Hinata, that he’d wanted to be with Atsumu, too. </p><p>“Are you going to tell Mother about him?” Osamu asks, growing serious.</p><p>Surprised, Atsumu realizes it is almost time for their mother to visit. He had almost forgotten. “About Shouyou? Why not?”</p><p>“I don’t think—” Osamu begins, picking his words carefully, “I don’t think she would be very fond of him.”</p><p>“But<em> I </em> like him,” Atsumu says. </p><p>“I know you do,” Osamu says, sighing. “I do, too. But she isn’t like us.” Atsumu opens his mouth to protest. “Just—be careful with him, okay?” </p><p>“With who?” </p><p>The two of them jump, whipping around to see Hinata, who smiles.</p><p>“Gods,” Osamu says, shuddering. “Don’t scare us like that.”</p><p>“You two were taking too long,” Hinata says, bumping shoulders with Atsumu playfully. “We’re going to be late for lessons.”</p><p>“Alright, then,” Atsumu says. He puts an arm around Hinata—ever since the nightmares, they’ve been quick to touch, to share warmth. “Let’s go.” </p><p>The three of them head back together, bunched close together like a cluster of wildflowers. Atsumu is happy. And yet he cannot help but think of Osamu’s warning about Hinata and their mother. Unlike Osamu, he has always trusted their mother, has never thought ill of her. All the same, the thought clings in the back of his mind like a burr to wool: <em> be careful with him.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“Come, Shouyou,” Atsumu says. He knows his cat’s grin is reflected on Osamu’s face as well. “Try to tell us apart.”</p><p>And Hinata groans, because they play this game far too often for his liking, and he loses often too. But always, he humours them: stares into their faces, prowls around them in circles while they try not to laugh at his frustrated expression. </p><p>This time, though, he does something different. He takes their hands, touches their palms gently—Osamu’s first, and then Atsumu’s. Feeling, searching. After a moment, Hinata speaks.</p><p>“Atsumu,” he says, meeting Atsumu’s gaze. There is a small, triumphant smile on his face. “You are Atsumu.”</p><p>Atsumu swallows. Hinata is still holding his hand. He feels something new flicker to life inside him, though just barely. </p><p>“Yes,” Atsumu says. “I am.”</p><p> </p><p>Early one morning, when the sky and the sea are the same shade of grey, a servant wakes Atsumu and Osamu gently. </p><p>“Your mother is here to see you both,” he says, and retreats, bowing.</p><p>Careful not to wake Hinata, the two of them clamber out the window and make their way to the beach. Their mother waits for them, seafoam curling around her feet, the breeze playing at her long, inky hair. Atsumu smiles—he’s missed her. </p><p>“My sons,” she says, with affection. She cups Atsumu’s face, then Osamu’s. Her hands are cool to the touch. Up close, she smells slightly of salt, and Atsumu breathes her in. </p><p>“You’ve been away for so long,” Atsumu says, almost plaintive.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had business elsewhere.” Atsumu waits for her to elaborate—he has always been interested in the dealings of the gods—but she says nothing more. “Are you both living well?” she asks. “Tell me.”</p><p>So Atsumu speaks for the both of them, trying to make up for Osamu’s silence. He tells her about riding the horses again, the way the animals outrun the wind. The cherries that have ripened. The rabbit he’d hunted. Mostly, he talks about training with Osamu, as he always does: the spear, the bow, the shield. He does not tell her about Hinata. </p><p>She listens, apparently satisfied. And then, as sharp as a blade, “Osamu, you are quiet today.”</p><p>Atsumu stiffens. For the last few visits, Osamu has been quiet with their mother, though not to the extent of this current silence. Atsumu remembers a conversation they’d had, years ago. <em> She scares me, </em> Osamu had said. <em> But she’s our mother, </em> Atsumu had responded, uncomprehending. He still does not understand, but he knows now that Osamu is different from him, shaped by people and experiences that have never touched Atsumu.</p><p>“I am just tired,” Osamu says, by way of explanation. “And Tsumu likes to talk, so I let him.” </p><p>For a moment, their mother simply looks at Osamu. Examining, perhaps searching for a lie. And then she shrugs, the air around her relaxing. “Very well,” she says. “I have brought you both gifts.”</p><p>The gifts are two small knives, one for each of them. Sea-glass blades, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Pretty things. Too beautiful to have been made by mortals—this is the handiwork of a god. Atsumu admires its lightness, fascinated. Their mother brings weapons for them often, but he never grows tired of these trinkets of godhead, of divinity.</p><p>“Go on,” their mother says, expectant. “Show me what you can do.”</p><p>Atsumu meets Osamu’s eyes. Osamu’s expression is unreadable, but he makes the first move, quick and darting like a snake in the grass, sea-glass blade passing by Atsumu’s ear with a high-pitched sound. Instinctively, Atsumu takes up the dance, dodging and retaliating with an attack of his own. Blow by blow, they fight with the ferocity of animals, with the prowess of young gods. But despite it all, they remain at a stalemate. Neither Atsumu nor Osamu can hurt the other—this is how they were born. Equal, identical. This fight is nothing but a show, a spectacle of their strength.</p><p>After a few moments, their mother speaks. “Enough,” she says, and they stop, lowering their weapons. Atsumu’s blood still thrums with the thrill of the fight. Osamu looks at the knife in his hand, chest heaving. </p><p>“I am proud of you both,” she says. There is a rare smile on her face—she is pleased. “You will be great men. Any army would be blessed to have you. The gods, too.”</p><p>Atsumu grins—he cannot help it. “Thank you, Mother,” he says, and Osamu echoes him. </p><p>“I must go,” their mother says. She kisses their foreheads, gentle. “But I will return soon. Until then, be well.”</p><p>They bid her farewell, and she leaves on the ocean’s sliver of reflected sunrise, shifting into the smooth, grey shape of a seal. In a few moments, she slips beneath the waves, and does not resurface. Osamu turns and leaves without a word. Atsumu follows after him. </p><p>“Are you angry?” Atsumu asks, as they walk back to the palace. </p><p>Osamu is silent for a moment. Even now, reconciled as they are, they do not speak much about his thoughts about their mother, about all that she represents. Somehow, Atsumu knows it is dangerous territory. </p><p>“I don’t like it,” Osamu finally says. “Fighting you. While she watches.” </p><p>Atsumu tilts his head. “We spar every day,” he says. Not that Osamu enjoys that, either. But he’s never this quiet afterwards. </p><p>“That’s different,” Osamu says. “I feel like she’s testing us, every time.”</p><p>“She just wants to know that we’re strong,” Atsumu says. “So—”</p><p>“I know that,” Osamu says. His tone does not invite further conversation, and Atsumu does not test him. </p><p>When they climb back into their room through the window, Hinata is awake, sitting up on his pallet. </p><p>“Where did you go?” Hinata asks. He looks pale, almost desperate. </p><p>“Sorry,” Atsumu says, coming to sit beside him. Osamu settles down on the other side of Hinata. “Our mother wanted to see us.”</p><p>“I woke up, and you were both gone,” Hinata says, a little accusingly. He bites his lip. “Tell me, next time.”</p><p>“We didn’t want to wake you,” Osamu says, cautious, and Atsumu nods. </p><p>“We’ll tell you,” he says. “Sorry.” Hinata looks more satisfied at that. “But you don’t have to worry for us, you know. Nobody’s going to snatch us from our beds—we’re not helpless.” <em> Far from it</em>.</p><p>“I wasn’t worried about that,” Hinata says. </p><p>“Then what were you afraid of?” Osamu asks. </p><p>Hinata’s gaze finds the ground, and he says something, too quiet for them to hear. </p><p>Atsumu tilts his head. “What?” </p><p>“I was afraid that you’d both left me behind,” Hinata says louder, turning to face him. In the moment, everything about him is vulnerable—he looks mortified, face tinted with scarlet. And yet his gaze is blazing, defiant: <em> so what if I am afraid?  </em></p><p>Atsumu shares a glance with Osamu, seeing his guilt mirrored on Osamu’s face.</p><p> “Sorry,” he says, and Osamu echoes him. </p><p>“We didn’t think,” Osamu says, apologetic. “We’ll—we’ll be better.” </p><p>Hinata sighs, the tension seeping away from his shoulders. A beam from the rising sun hits his hair, coats it in gold. He shines. It is breathtaking. </p><p>“Shouyou,” Atsumu says, when he finds his voice again. “You know—you don’t have to be afraid of that, either.” </p><p>Hinata hugs his knees into his chest. “I know,” he mumbles. “I was just being stupid. Sorry.” </p><p>“No,” Atsumu says, pressing against him gently. “No, it’s alright.”</p><p>There is something about the early morning that makes them quiet, subdued. As they sit, Osamu hums a soft melody—an apology, perhaps. Or reassurance. Hinata closes his eyes to listen. </p><p>Atsumu sets aside the sea-glass knife and reaches out to take Hinata’s hand instead. Unlike Atsumu’s mother, Hinata is warm to the touch; his blood runs hot. He curls his fingers around Atsumu’s hand with the gentlest pressure. </p><p>A hold on the hand. A hold on the heart. What is the difference, really?</p><p> </p><p>So Atsumu learns that Hinata is afraid of being left behind. Of being lonely too, but most of all, of losing what he’d once had. Atsumu cannot blame him. Hinata has lost so much already. Of course he is afraid. Who would not be, after everything he has gone through? </p><p>It begins to weigh on Atsumu when he and Osamu leave Hinata to train by themselves. Osamu is still hesitant to let Hinata know the truth of their gifts. Atsumu understands his fear: would they lose Hinata—bold, playful—if they told him? Would he see them as strangers? Push them away? But despite all his doubts, Atsumu’s heart always hurts when he turns around to see Hinata alone in the pasture, his figure small and slight next to the grazing horses. </p><p>“What do you do?” Atsumu asks him, one evening. “When we’re gone?”</p><p>They sit together, looking up at the sky. The golden stallion is lying down curled around them, and they lean against its belly as it nuzzles gently at Hinata’s hands. Osamu is in the palace with his own friends, considerate enough to recognize that their evenings are theirs alone.</p><p>Hinata shrugs.  “Ride,” he says, arranging the stallion’s forelock neatly. “Sleep. Climb trees. Wait, mostly.” </p><p>Atsumu’s heart twists. “Are you ever lonely?” he asks. </p><p>“Sometimes,” Hinata admits. “But it’s alright,” he adds, quickly. “It’s not for long. I know it’s a secret, what you both do.” </p><p>Atsumu cannot stop himself. “Come with us,” he says. “Tomorrow.”</p><p>Hinata blinks. “Are you sure? What about Osamu?”</p><p>No, Atsumu is not sure. It is strange—after thinking so highly of his divine gifts for so long, he now finds himself wishing that Hinata will see him only as Atsumu, the boy. </p><p>“Yes,” he says, anyways. “Osamu will be alright with it, too.”</p><p>“Alright, then,” Hinata says, after a pause. “I’ll come.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu does not protest when Atsumu brings Hinata along to the training the next day. He does not say much at all. Perhaps he is angry. He tosses Atsumu his spear, and Atsumu catches it deftly. Hinata sits under a tree nearby, silent. Watching. Atsumu realizes that no one has really watched them before, aside from their father and mother. </p><p>“Come on, then,” Osamu says, and makes the first move. </p><p>Atsumu has come to realize that Osamu does not strike first out of eagerness to fight, but rather in the hopes of finishing as soon as possible. He sidesteps, soft on his feet, hearing the whistle of the spearpoint as it passes by his shoulder. And then they begin, moving like water, like lightning. The heft of the spear in his hand Atsumu’s hand is comforting, the ground under his feet solid and reliable. To Atsumu, this feels less like fighting than dancing. Than living. Every time, he cannot help the joy in his chest at his own excellence, the smoothness of his movements. In the future, people will watch him and wonder.</p><p>They stop, eventually. They are still young—their bodies have limits. Breathless, they both turn to Hinata. He stands up and approaches them. His gaze is searching. </p><p>“Is this what happens?” Hinata asks, finally. <em> This </em>being Astumu and Osamu. He does not sound awed or jealous, merely curious.  “When your mother is a goddess?”</p><p>Osamu and Atsumu share a glance. So Hinata had known, yet he had been no less bold with them.</p><p>“There’s more than that,” Atsumu admits. “There was a prophecy, too.” A curse that’d been their mother’s downfall, forcing her into a loveless marriage with a mortal: <em> your children will be greater than their father. </em> </p><p>“Oh,” Hinata says, but does not ask more. For a moment, he is silent, and then he shrugs and looks out at the sky. “Well, then.”</p><p>“Well, what?” Osamu asks, stiff. </p><p>Hinata turns back to them. Takes in the way they stand close to each other, stony-faced, as if preparing for a verdict. “Why do you both look so scared?” he asks, breaking into a soft peal of laughter. “I’m not the demigod here.”</p><p>Atsumu blinks, because it’s true: they are scared. Or at the very least, nervous. </p><p>“This doesn’t change much,” Hinata says. “Unless you want me to get on the ground and start worshipping you both. Then I’ll—I’ll run away, I think.” He smiles. “I am <em> not </em>worshipping anyone who fights over pillows,” Hinata continues. “Even I have a little bit of dignity.”</p><p>“We do <em> not </em>fight over pillows,” Atsumu says, genuinely affronted. </p><p>Osamu hums. “Well, there was that one time—”</p><p>“That was <em> cushions</em>,” Atsumu hisses. Osamu shrugs. “But no. I—we wanted to have more time with you,” he says, meeting Hinata’s gaze. “That’s all.” </p><p>“Oh,” Hinata says. His eyes are bright; he is smiling. He understands. “Alright, then. If that’s what you wanted.” </p><p>Atsumu feels Osamu’s relief as strongly as his own. They share a glance, a quick, giddy smile. Setting down his spear, Atsumu reaches out and holds Hinata close to him. His heart is overfull with admiration, affection. He feels like he can do anything. </p><p>“Come on,” Atsumu says. “Let’s go back inside.”</p><p> </p><p>At night, Osamu stills plays the lyre for them. If he’s feeling particularly patient, he’ll even let them join in. </p><p>“No, Shouyou, you come in when Tsumu plays the high part—”</p><p>Hinata is giggling. “Sorry,” he says. He has his own instrument now, though like Atsumu, he has not taken to it the way Osamu does. But he likes to play with Osamu, to see his calm facade crack. They both do. </p><p>“What, Samu,” Atsumu says, grinning. “You don’t think we sound lovely?”</p><p>Osamu sighs. “You are both awful,” he says. “You were the ones who asked me to teach you tonight. Remember? Does anyone remember that?”</p><p>This only makes them laugh all the more. Osamu runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. </p><p>“Shouyou, just—you start, this time,” he says. “And Atsumu will follow. Okay?” </p><p>“Okay,” Hinata says, and starts playing immediately. </p><p>Osamu blinks, taken aback, but does not interrupt. Hinata plays with enthusiasm—perhaps a little too much, he always tends to rush—and the song suits him, lively and sweet. Atsumu joins in on his cue, pulled into the rhythm, and after a few beats, so does Osamu. The song they play is far from perfect, but it is lovely in its own way, with all its flaws. </p><p>Hinata finishes his part first, and he waits, smiling, as Atsumu finishes playing as well. And then it is only Osamu, his skill evident in every note. He ends with a flourish, a bit of improvisation. </p><p><em> Show-off</em>, Atsumu mouths to Hinata, who laughs. </p><p>“You both played too fast,” Osamu complains. “You ended too early. Especially Shouyou.”</p><p>Atsumu clicks his tongue. “Don’t pick on him,” he says, and nudges Hinata’s ankle with his own. Hinata grins, conspiratorial. “There’s no pleasing you, is there?”</p><p>“Well,” Osamu says, reluctant. “I <em> guess </em>it was better than last time.” </p><p>“Did you hear that?” Hinata says to Atsumu, teasing. “He <em> guesses</em>.”</p><p>Atsumu laughs. Osamu sighs, pointedly ignoring them both, and starts playing again by himself. Something slow and soft. Hinata falls quiet almost right away, as does Atsumu—Osamu’s playing is not to be wasted. In the soft night, Atsumu momentarily forgets that the world is any bigger than their room, than the three of them together, than the music in the air. </p><p> </p><p>As promised, Atsumu’s mother does return soon. But it is not Osamu and Atsumu she pays a visit to first.</p><p>“I met your mother,” Hinata says to Atsumu, one morning when they are alone. “She wanted to speak with me.”</p><p>Atsumu blinks, feeling his heart thud in his chest. <em> Be careful with him</em>. So his mother had seen Hinata, had known about him even though Atsumu had not spoken of him to her. She is a goddess, after all. “She was here? When?”</p><p>“Before sunrise,” Hinata says. “She didn’t let me wake you. I don’t think she wanted you to know she came.”</p><p>Atsumu swallows. “What did she say?”</p><p>Hinata is silent for a moment. “Not very much,” he says. He is very quiet. “She didn’t like that I was an exile. And a murderer. But she trusts your judgement.”</p><p>“Oh,” Atsumu says. Hinata has never called himself those words before. It makes Atsumu’s stomach twist.</p><p>“She says that you and Osamu are going to be gods,” Hinata continues. He tilts his head. “Is that true?”</p><p>Atsumu almost blushes—it sounds ridiculous when Hinata says it like that. Preposterous. “Maybe,” he says, trying to choose his words well. “She says that if we are famous enough as warriors, the gods will recruit us themselves.”</p><p>Hinata looks thoughtful. “Do you want to be a god?” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Atsumu says, truthfully. He has never really thought about <em> wanting </em>godhead, had only considered it something that would be given to him eventually. “But I want to be great.” He pauses and fixes his gaze to the ground, still embarrassed. “After all, that’s why I was born like this. To be great.” </p><p>They look out at the blue sky. In the distance, the gulls are calling. </p><p>“I want people to know my name,” Atsumu continues, turning to Hinata. “Is that stupid of me?”</p><p>“No,” Hinata says. His gaze is direct and honest. “No, I don’t think so.” He exhales, soft. “I might have wanted that too, once.”</p><p><em> What do you want, now? </em>Atsumu almost asks, but Hinata’s gaze is fixed on the distant horizon. He seems to be somewhere else.</p><p>“Do you want to know?” Hinata asks, after a moment. “About the boy I killed?”</p><p>Atsumu pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Do you want to tell me?” he says. </p><p>“I do,” Hinata says. “I’ve been keeping it too long.” His gaze is pleading. “Please—listen. Don’t hate me.” </p><p>And so he speaks. He had been arguing with a boy, the son of a wealthy, neighbouring king. Another prince, twice his size, who’d begun to taunt him, first about the colour of his hair, then his sister, and then his dead mother. And Hinata—scrawny, small—had pushed him. The push had been weak, but the prince tripped over a rock and fell to the ground, hitting his head. He never rose again.</p><p>Atsumu listens, and he aches. Oh, how the gods like their games of misfortune. </p><p>“I still see him sometimes,” Hinata whispers. “When I dream.”</p><p>Atsumu does not know what to say. “It was an accident,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault.”</p><p>Hinata shakes his head, looks at his hands. He is on the verge of tears. “I didn’t know how hard he would fall,” he says. His voice rises with despair. “I never meant to kill anyone. Never!”</p><p>Seeing him like this, Atsumu feels his heart break. He reaches out and pulls Hinata to his chest. Feels the sobs rack Hinata’s body, the wetness of his tears. </p><p>“I know,” Atsumu says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know. Shouyou, I believe you.”</p><p>When Osamu finds them an hour later, Hinata is asleep against Atsumu’s chest. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, but he sleeps dreamlessly, as serene as the skies above.</p><p> </p><p>It is easy now for the days to pass quickly, and they do. With no secrets left between them, Hinata and Atsumu revel in the full force of their friendship, as natural and sweet as the breeze. Atsumu forgets, for moments at a time, that this dream of boyhood cannot last. That he is meant to be a god, and if not a god, then at least a hero. </p><p>His mother reminds him of this, when she visits him and Osamu. She does not mention her meeting with Hinata, and never refers to him by name. But sometimes, she will ask about him, her expression as unreadable as the sea.</p><p>“Your companion,” she says to Atsumu. “How is he?”</p><p>“He is well,” Atsumu will respond, unsure of what else to say. The way she presses her mouth into a thin line always makes him feel that he has somehow answered wrongly. </p><p>However, she never asks more about Hinata. Instead, she begins to speak about sending them away to the same teacher who had once taught their father. A wise man on a mountain, a child of the old gods, who will teach them to be heroes. Osamu is disinterested—has always been in this kind of thing. And lately, Atsumu finds his interest waning as well. He has everything here, in the palace: the horses, his father, Osamu. Hinata. Always, always Hinata. Atsumu is not ready to leave. </p><p>“Mother,” he says one day. “When we go to the mountain, may I bring my companion?”</p><p>Beside him, Osamu tenses. He’d told Atsumu to speak as little about Hinata as possible ever since their mother had met with him in secret. But Atsumu needs to know, needs to prepare his heart. </p><p>Their mother is silent for a moment. “He is of mortal blood,” she says, voice cold and indifferent. “There is no place for him there.” </p><p>Her tone does not invite argument, but Atsumu tries anyway. “He is very precious to both of us,” he says, choosing his words. “I would—”</p><p>“You will see him again,” his mother says, icy, “after three years.”</p><p>It is like being struck. Three years. Atsumu has barely had one with Hinata. With a clench of his heart, he thinks of the way Hinata had looked the day he’d woken up to Atsumu and Osamu’s absence. Atsumu falls to one knee. Osamu gives a start—Atsumu can sense his fear. </p><p>“Then please,” Atsumu says, eyes trained on the ground. “Mother. Please let us stay here, just for a little longer. Another year.”</p><p>He can feel their mother’s disapproving gaze on the back of his neck, cold and almost baleful. But she has always loved him well—he has always given her reason to do so—and she is not in the habit of denying him anything. </p><p>“Very well,” she says. “Another year.”</p><p>Atsumu looks up, meets her eyes. “Thank you,” he says. </p><p>He feels Osamu relax beside him. Thankfully, they do not dwell on the matter—their mother dislikes open conflict. And that is the end of that. They do not tell Hinata about the end of next year. Neither of them can find it in themselves to do so, dear to them as he is. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu has always been inclined to staring at Hinata, but in the coming days he finds that he almost cannot stop. It starts innocuously, a lingering glance on the auburn of Hinata’s hair, but then it dips down to the elegant slope of his brow, the smooth curve of his lashes. Hinata’s lips. His neck, still slender with boyhood. His skin where it disappears beneath his clothing. Atsumu looks and looks, and yet he is never satisfied. </p><p>Sometimes, Hinata will turn and catch him, and for one glorious, terrifying moment, their eyes will meet. And for all the times they’ve looked at each other, this always feels different. It is something new and foreign, almost shameful. Hinata’s cheeks will redden beautifully, but always, Atsumu has to look away out of fear. </p><p>They never speak about this. Atsumu feels it: a secret growing between them where there was once nothing. He does not know what to do about it—is only vaguely aware that whatever this is, it is tied to his growing, unsettled body and a new, unfamiliar landscape of wanting. It is perhaps the worst when they ride on the golden stallion together, Hinata’s chest flush against Atsumu’s back, his arms wrapped tightly around Atsumu’s waist. Their bodies pressed close together like birds in a nest. It makes Atsumu’s blood run hot, fills him with delight and guilt in equal parts. He tries not to think about it. He knows he will drive himself mad if he thinks about it. So he does not. </p><p>But deep inside, Atsumu also knows they cannot stay like this forever, hiding and shy like children. They are getting older. They are all growing up, and with growth comes change, as wonderful and terrifying as a storm in summer. </p><p> </p><p>“—and so the son of the great god was wed to a daughter of the river. This brought great fortune to their people, and they rejoiced…”</p><p>The afternoon is much too hot for history stories, and Atsumu’s father’s voice feels almost soporific. Listless, Atsumu pokes Hinata in the cheek, and Hinata recoils with surprise. Seemingly indignant, he pouts and turns away pointedly, pretending to ignore Atsumu. Atsumu will have none of that. He tries to poke Hinata again, but Hinata’s hand darts out and grabs him by the wrist. </p><p>Hinata grins, devilish.  <em> I caught you. </em> Atsumu grins back. <em> You did. </em></p><p>“Atsumu. Shouyou.” Atsumu’s father sounds stern, though not angry. “If you’re not listening, you may as well go out and play.”</p><p>Atsumu brightens. “Really?”</p><p>His father sighs, good-natured. “It’s not quite fair to keep you both inside while Osamu does what he likes,” he says, chuckling.</p><p>These days, what Osamu likes is the company of girls, like many boys their age. No doubt he is at some secret rendezvous now with some blushing, bright-eyed friend, forgetting all about where he is supposed to be. </p><p>“You would both do well to follow his example,” Atsumu’s father says. “The two of you keep to yourselves much too often.”</p><p>Hinata releases Atsumu’s wrist a little too quickly, his gaze finding the floor. Atsumu finds himself bristling. </p><p>“We are fine as we are, Father,” he says, trying to keep the anger out of his voice and failing. </p><p>“Very well,” his father says. “Calm yourself, Atsumu. I just thought the other boys would do for good company.” </p><p>“The other boys used to tease Shouyou, Father,” Atsumu says. “For the colour of his hair.”</p><p>His father huffs. “What?” he exclaims, mock-outraged. “What is there to tease? Our Shouyou has hair as black as a crow’s wing.” </p><p>The obvious untruth makes Hinata laugh a little.</p><p>“Isn’t that right, little crow?” the king continues, ruffling Hinata’s hair. </p><p>“Yes, my king,” Hinata says, playing along. </p><p>“You have both finished your lessons?” the king asks. Hinata and Atsumu nod quickly. “Go on, then,” the king says. He leans back in his throne, smiling. “Be merry. The sun will set soon.”</p><p> </p><p>They lie together in the shade of the pasture, close together even despite the heat. In the distance, the horses graze, peaceful.</p><p>“My mother’s hair was red,” Hinata murmurs, seemingly out of nowhere.</p><p>Atsumu meets his eyes. “Really?” </p><p>Hinata nods. “My sister’s is, too,” he continues, smiling a little. “So I thought that mine was alright, even if it was different from most people’s.” He sighs, sounding wistful. “But maybe I would’ve been happier if I’d been born without it.”</p><p>“What, bald?” Atsumu says. </p><p>This makes Hinata laugh. His laughter comes often now, like birdsong in summer. Atsumu cherishes it. “You know what I mean.”</p><p>“I do,” Atsumu says. He leans back, lying down on the grass, and thinks about the way Hinata’s hair is gilded by sunlight. It is one of the most lovely things he has ever seen. </p><p>“If I had black hair like yours—” Hinata begins. </p><p>“No,” Atsumu says, so quickly he surprises himself. Hinata looks taken aback, almost hurt. “No,” Atsumu says again, gentle. “You’re—you’re fine. As you are.” He is too embarrassed to say more, but he hopes that Hinata understands. </p><p>Hinata smiles down at him. “Well,” he says. “If you say so.”</p><p>“I do say so,” Atsumu says. He turns away, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. “Don’t listen to what anyone else says.”</p><p>“Ah,” Hinata says, voice teasing. “So I should only listen to you, is that it? My prince?”</p><p>Atsumu huffs, disgruntled and embarrassed. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, echoing Hinata. </p><p>“Yes,” Hinata says, after a pause. Atsumu can hear his smile. “Yes, I do.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu is possessed by an idea, after that. </p><p>By day, he asks around discreetly. By night, Atsumu sneaks out from their room and soaks his hair in the juice of the sour berries that grow at the forest’s edge. It makes his scalp feel like it is crawling with ants, but he grits his teeth and bears it, then rinses it out in the river. Hinata and Osamu are still asleep when Atsumu clambers back into the room, and he falls asleep almost immediately.</p><p>He wakes at dawn, and Hinata wakes soon after. </p><p>“Atsumu,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed. </p><p>“Shouyou,” Atsumu says quietly, by way of response. </p><p>Hinata’s eyes flutter open, and they find Atsumu. His hair. Hinata blinks several times and rubs his eyes, sitting up. He keeps staring. </p><p>“Well?” Atsumu demands after an agonizing moment, suddenly very self-conscious. “Can you—can you say something?”</p><p>Hinata opens his mouth and—laughs. He looks like he’s trying not to, but he does anyway. He tries to speak too, but doesn’t quite manage. Not through all the laughter.</p><p>“Shouyou!” Atsumu almost whines. “I did this for <em> you— </em>”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Hinata manages, still laughing. “I’m sorry, it’s just—the colour—”</p><p>“Oh, gods,” Atsumu says, horrified. “I’m hideous now, aren’t I?”</p><p>“No, no!” Hinata says hurriedly. “You’re still handsome. Just… different.” He takes a breath and sobers, pressing his forehead to Atsumu’s. “Thank you,” he murmurs, earnest and grateful. His breath is warm against Atsumu’s cheek. Up close, the dark sweep of his lashes is mesmerizing. “Thank you.”</p><p>Atsumu feels himself flush at their closeness. Hinata’s expression makes his heart shake, and he thinks, <em> for you, I would do anything</em>. <em> Everything.  </em></p><p>Their moment is cut short by a sound that could be a laugh, but is much more obnoxious. Atsumu whips around.</p><p>“Good gods,” Osamu says, still chortling. “You look like you’ve washed your hair with dog piss.”</p><p> </p><p>When Atsumu’s father sees him, he laughs too, though good-naturedly. But the other boys do not dare say a word, not about him, nor about Hinata. His mother presses her lips into a thin line when she sees what he’s done, displeasure evident in every line of her face. After all, it is her black hair that Atsumu had inherited, as dark as the depths of the sea. And now it treads the fine line between sunlight and dog piss. But Atsumu cannot find it in himself to regret it, not when Hinata smiles so freely at him, not when Hinata runs his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, gentle and reverent. </p><p> </p><p>Time sweeps them along like a rushing river, sweet and unrelenting both. Horse races. Skipped lessons. The music of lyres. Osamu’s laughter and Hinata’s warmth. In other words, boyhood; in other words, fleeting. Impermanent. </p><p>It doesn’t feel that way, though. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with Hinata under the brilliant warmth of the noonday sun, Atsumu feels like he has been here forever, that he will be here forever. </p><p>“What are you thinking about?” Hinata asks, quiet. His smile is small and fond. </p><p>Atsumu smiles. Rests his head on his knees. “Guess.”</p><p>“Dinner,” Hinata says immediately, and Atsumu pushes him gently. “Breakfast. Dinner.”</p><p>“Who do you think I am?” Atsumu asks. “Samu?”</p><p>Hinata laughs. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Let me think.”</p><p>“You get three tries,” Atsumu tells him. </p><p>“Well, that’s not fair,” Hinata says. “Since when was that a rule?”</p><p>“Since now,” Atsumu says with a grin. </p><p>Hinata makes a face, but his brow furrows in concentration. “Your spear.” </p><p>Atsumu shakes his head, still smiling. </p><p>“Your hair.” </p><p>Atsumu huffs, mock-exasperated, grabs Hinata by the shoulders, and they fall onto the grass together. Laughing. “Gods, Shouyou, stop already with my hair—” </p><p>Hinata grins up at him, and he looks beautiful like this, crowned by the wildflowers. Red hair brilliant against the verdant grass. Atsumu swallows, feels the smile fall off of his face—he <em> wants</em>, and he doesn’t even really know what he wants. Underneath him, Hinata sobers too, a hand coming up to hold Atsumu’s wrist gently. </p><p>“Me.” Hinata’s face is flushed, but his gaze is clear. His voice—quiet, lowered—trembles, just a little. “Atsumu, were you thinking about me?” </p><p><em> No</em>, Atsumu wants to say, because that’s not what he’d meant when he started the game, not at all. But Hinata isn’t wrong, either. Of course Atsumu thinks of him. Now. All the time. </p><p>Atsumu feels his face grow hot, and he extricates himself, sitting up and turning away. For a moment, he does not know what to say. “It smells like rain,” he finally says. </p><p>Hinata seems a little taken aback by the change in subject, but he takes it in stride, perhaps knowing that they’d gotten too close. “The sun’s still out,” he says, sitting up as well.</p><p>But there are clouds gathering, too. The wind rises, playing roughly with their hair. Atsumu gets to his feet and holds out an open hand. Feels a raindrop land heavily in his palm.</p><p>“It’s raining.”</p><p>“No, it’s not.”</p><p>The raindrops continue to fall, a gift from the heavens for their parched earth. </p><p>“Shouyou, it’s going to pour, we should go back—”</p><p>“It’s not raining!” Hinata says, leaping to his feet, even as a raindrop falls on his hair.</p><p>A thunderclap, so loud it makes them both jump. Hinata grabs Atsumu’s hand, and they begin to run. He has always been fast for a mortal, and he is fast now. But the storm is faster, the rain beginning to fall in sheets. </p><p>“It’s still not raining!” Hinata shouts again, beginning to laugh.</p><p>“What?” Atsumu is perplexed. “It is!” </p><p>“No, it’s not!”</p><p>“If it’s not raining, then why are you running?” </p><p>“Because <em> you’re </em> running!” </p><p>Overhead, lightning flashes, as if trying to rival the sun that remains bright in the sky. The storm is wild, dangerous, glorious. Hand in hand, they sprint to the palace, giddy with joy and excitement. Almost euphoric. <em> It’s still not raining! </em> Hinata keeps shouting over the thunder and the downpour, and they’re both laughing at his silly pretense, this nonsensical little game that belongs to nobody but themselves.</p><p>By the time they make it to the palace, they are soaked through, wet hair plastered to their heads, the remnants of the storm running down their body in rivulets. The two of them breathe heavily, try to rest. Atsumu looks down at his left sandal—he’s torn one of the straps. Hinata leans against the wall, his eyes closing. There is a smile on his face. Finally descending from their euphoria, they quiet. Atsumu finds his gaze drawn to the cling of wet fabric to Hinata’s skin, the drops of rain that  trickle down his neck onto his collarbone. </p><p>Hinata opens his eyes and catches Atsumu staring, like he often does. And perhaps it is the storm or the tiredness, bone-deep, but Atsumu cannot find it in himself to look away. He simply watches as Hinata rises on his toes, birdlike, bringing himself up to Atsumu’s height. Slowly, as if afraid that Atsumu might startle, Hinata leans forward and presses his lips gently to Atsumu’s. </p><p>Instinctively, Atsumu closes his eyes. The contact is so soft and so brief it seems like a dream, like something unreal. And yet it is powerful enough to render Atsumu breathless. There is a bird in his ribcage and lightning in his veins. Atsumu is the open sky. </p><p>When they break apart, Atsumu finds himself trembling. So this is what he’s been wanting, has been wanting forever. He gazes at Hinata, who looks just as undone, and feels the world unravel at their feet. The compulsion to touch is so strong that Atsumu curls his fingers into fists. His desire threatens to drown him. It is like stepping into a puddle only to fall into the sea: overwhelming and terrifying all at once. Atsumu cannot stay here. He does not know what he will do. </p><p>“Atsumu,” Hinata says, voice shaking. “Atsumu, I—”</p><p>Atsumu turns and runs. Hinata does not follow him. </p><p> </p><p>When he gets to their room after what seems an eternity later, his mother is already there, her eyes dark with anger. Osamu is there too, looking miserable. </p><p>“Mother,” Atsumu says, his heart in his throat. “What—”</p><p>“You two are leaving today,” his mother says, and her voice allows no room for argument. “Now.” </p><p>“Why—”</p><p>“My son,” she says, icy. “Do you think me blind?”</p><p>Atsumu feels a frisson of terror run down his back. He sees Osamu’s knuckles turn white. “Mother, please—” </p><p>“You will go to the mountain now,” she says, as hard and ungiving as stone, “and you will learn to be heroes. To be gods, as you are meant to be.” </p><p>The sky is falling; the earth is falling apart. Atsumu can only think of one thing. “Don’t hurt Shouyou,” he says. “Please. He is—” </p><p>His mother’s eyes flash. “What?” she demands, daring him to say it. “He is what to you?”</p><p>And Atsumu has never been inclined to tears, but he feels them now, pricking at his eyes. He bites his lip and does not speak. </p><p>His mother exhales, some of the anger melting away. “I only want the best for you,” she says, gentler. “Remember that, if nothing else.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu does not ask. He probably knows. He has probably known all along. After a quick farewell to their father, they are escorted from the palace by their father’s men, put on horses and given food and drink for their long journey. Their mother watches them leave: <em> do not dare turn back. </em> The storm has ceased, and the sky is clear. </p><p>It is evening when the men leave them at the foot of the mountain and begin their journey back to the palace. Atsumu gazes up at the forested climb, and does not take a step forward. </p><p>“We’re supposed to meet our teacher up there,” Osamu says. </p><p>“No,” Atsumu says. “We need to wait for Shouyou.” </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“He’ll come. He’ll come after us.” </p><p>“It’s too far,” Osamu says. “He’s—”</p><p>“He’ll come,” Atsumu insists. “He will.” </p><p>Osamu meets his eyes, and after a moment, he relents. He puts down his pack and sits on a fallen log. </p><p>“Then we might as well rest,” he says. </p><p>So they sit in silence. Atsumu’s head is clear now, and there is only the singular belief that Hinata will come to them. It is unthinkable that he would not. But the moon rises, and the stars begin to shine, and Atsumu begins to wonder if perhaps he has gone a little mad. The journey here is harrowing and long, even on horseback. And it is dark now, and Hinata has never been as strong as he is fast— </p><p>“Atsumu!” A weak cry, from the distance. “Osamu!”</p><p>It is as if someone has called to Atsumu’s soul. Atsumu leaps to his feet, almost wild, tears across the path to the beloved, familiar silhouette making their way towards them. “Shouyou!”</p><p>They meet in the middle, colliding, falling to the ground. Atsumu buries his face in Hinata’s shoulder, and they are holding each other so tightly that it hurts, but he could not care less. “Shouyou,” he keeps whispering, “Shouyou, Shouyou—” There are a million things he wants to say—<em>I</em><em>’m sorry, are you hurt, you came for me, you came—</em>but he cannot.</p><p>“Atsumu,” Hinata says, voice hoarse. It sounds almost like a prayer. “<em>Atsumu</em>.” </p><p>They let go of each other after a few moments, and Hinata stands up to embrace Osamu, who has come up behind them. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Osamu asks, gentle.</p><p>Hinata nods. “Mostly, I think—”  They break apart, and he fumbles with his pack, holding something out. “And I brought this.” </p><p>A lyre. Osamu laughs. “You’re mad,” he says. </p><p>Atsumu takes Hinata’s hand, and Hinata lets him, his fingers tightening with a gentle pressure. “I just—I couldn’t stay,” Hinata says. “I  couldn’t. Not when you were both gone.” </p><p>Atsumu nods. “If you didn’t come,” he says, “I would have gone back for you.” </p><p>It is too dark to really see Hinata’s expression, but Atsumu hears him exhale, shaky. The three of them stand together under the moonlight, shoulders touching, revelling in their reunion. </p><p>“I was wondering,” a quiet, unfamiliar voice says, “why you two were taking so long.”</p><p>Hinata jumps, his grip tightening painfully on Atsumu’s hand. Atsumu and Osamu whip around to see a man, tall and slender, with golden eyes that are luminous and inhuman in the dark. </p><p>“Don’t be afraid,” the man says. “My name is Kita. I am to be your teacher.” His gaze finds Hinata, who balks a little. “And who is this? I was only expecting two princes.” </p><p>“This is Shouyou,” Atsumu says, making his voice steady. “My companion.” </p><p>“Your companion,” Kita says, tilting his head. Thinking, maybe. There is something animalistic about him that makes him hard to read. “Very well. It is too late for stories now. You are young; you are tired. Come with me.” </p><p>The three of them follow him into the underbrush, their shapes illuminated by the soft light of the moon and the stars. Atsumu holds on to Hinata’s hand, and he does not let go. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank u v much for reading!! </p><p>quote from this chapter is from <i>troy</i>, which is a very straight adaptation of the iliad, so i put it in here and gayed it up a bit. and thank u to my friends who heard me rant about horses while i wrote this.</p><p>don't worry, osamu is bi lol</p></blockquote></div></div>
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